Completed Quarry

[Aarno]

“ You should reconcile. “

“ I think not. “ He didn’t raise his look at her from his reading. “ Why you’d think me at fault is beyond me. “

“ I do not. “ She responded softly, buttering a scone. “ But you are too angry. It reflects badly on the both of us. Our social circle—

“ Then divorce me. “

It had been sharper than he’d meant, their eyes meeting for the first time the entire morning. Her expression was amused as she regarded him.

“ No. Truth be told — A part of me has always thought you’d leave me a widow. “ She said impassively, shrugging as she put the knife down. “ Your attitude will grant me that soon enough, am sure, being your undoing. “

“ I thought you liked my attitude. “

“ I did. “ Head tilting and stare escaping at the painted patterns on the walls, she took a bite of her breakfast.

“ But I’ve changed, since. “

***​

Battle was in the horizon. A skirmish — some shitheel looking to offend the borders of another who was only a little bit less of a shitheel. But an ally, apparently.

And here he was, stood at the edge of camp, waiting on someone that they might trek into the woods to check on traps and look for deer. He had no special use here in means of craft, a stone mason stranded amidst what felt an endless snow covered woodland, but he could read on the dirt for what roamed it.

He could feel the man’s swaggering gait in the ripples beneath his soles before he could see him, rounding the corner of a tent. Why he’d done this to himself, joining in on a task with a man he had a glaring lack of positive interactions with, escaped most of his comprehension.

Except for that tiny little part, whispering in a version of her voice when he had the time to think and worry. He’d not been here for very long yet, amongst these people, compared to most that called the Order home. Too much had happened, before.

And so much since, in not the most preferable of manners. It was not hard to be convinced that there’d be things to learn yet. Some grace.

“ Syr Faramund. “ He rotated on his heel to greet his fellow sworn, facing him proper.

“ I trust you’re aware of our intended collaboration today? “ It was neutral enough, making no assumption, his gloved hand indicating betwixt the trees.

“ You’re our best tracker, of course, but it was figured we ought not stray alone here. “ If nothing else, for how close enemy scouts and whatnot might be. Whom they were to be up against wasn’t known for their well-meaning ways.

“ Naturally, it’ll be your lead. “

 

[Faramund]

A skirmish was on the horizon, or so he had been told. The five days they had spent marching had proven uneventful. The sixth, even less so. The opportunity to forage was the most excitement Faramund had had all week. That's how you know things are bad, he mused, hugging his arms to his chest. To keep the cold out.

Or the warm in.

Rounding the corner of a row of tents, head down, shoulders hunched, the big dawnling crunched to a halt. For a moment there, it had almost sounded like someone had called his name. 'That better not be who I think it is,' he mumbled, under his breath. Slowly, he lifted his gaze, then, wished he hadn't.

“I trust you’re aware of our intended collaboration today?" Syr Aarno greeted him, pleasant as ever.

'I am now,' Faramund replied, glad for the scarf that hid most of his face. His brows rose as Aarno went on, about best that and naturally this. Faramund wasn't really listening. 'Figures,' he said, 'my lone wolf days are over and done with, I fear. Oh well.'

Stomping his feet, the dawnling took a look around, noting a distinct lack of four-legged friends.

'Don't suppose you saw fit to saddle the horses whilst you were waiting?'

Aarno

 

[Aarno]

It dawned on him in an instant this was the worst idea he’d had for weeks.

Fucking idiot. The one time he had dared to have some smidge of hope, taking on thrice buried advice against his better judgement. He felt his anger coiling up, the vibrancy of his stare flaring like an ember when it remained on Faramund, bearing into the details of his face. He forced a passivity upon himself and his tone, exhaling.

“ I was, personally, of the mind to walk. What with the unfamiliar terrain and thickets. “ Not that you’d care, of course. For that or that the horses could do with a rest. His head keeled, stare measuring the man up and down with some judgement.

“ Thus — We’ve but a draft pony. Has our equipment and a sleigh for the prey. “

He turned and gestured in a beckoning wave, alerting the squire that’d been double-checking all the attachments on the animal’s harness, half obscured by the surrounding tents.

“ You are, of course, free to ride it. If you like. “ Continuing in his weary monotone, fully detached, he bounced a look at Faramund like in daring.

Or saddle a horse yourself. I'm in no rush.

 

[Faramund]

'Unfamiliar to you, maybe.' Faramund smiled, but there was no smile behind his eyes. Only steel and cold certainty. 'Makes no difference to me, so long as you've the boot leather.' The wind picked up suddenly, snatching his words away. Not that he had anything left to say.

'Naturally, it'll be your job to lead the horse. In the meantime, I'll do my best not to steer us into an ambush.'

Crunching on past Aarno, Faramund led them down the hill and away from camp. The picket Lord Dunstable had in place didn't even bother to challenge them. 'Good luck!' One of them called instead. Faramund gave the man a polite wave. Thanks, he thought, I'm gonna need it.

Walking on, Faramund picked them a merry path through the forest. Vegetation was somewhat sparse this time of year, but even so, visibility remained piss-poor. How easy it would be to lose him in this wilderness, the dawnling thought, sour as the day he was born. The guilt that followed was in no way related to the fact he was entertaining the idea.

'Still alive back there?' Faramund asked after a time, having wandered seemingly aimlessly for what felt like ten minutes but was more like twenty. 'Haven't twisted an ankle to thrown a shoe?'

 

[Aarno]

Not steer us into an ambush. A reasonable division of responsibility, then.

Making no further comment, least of all how he could well watch out for himself, he gave but a shrug. The man took lead without delay therein and he settled into his wake, accepting the palomino’s reins in passing. Humming, mainly to soothe himself, he laid his palm on the side of its head in a stroke as they begun away.

After that, with the ambience of the camp left behind, it was so quiet for a good while. One could almost start thinking straight again, tension leaving his shoulders as he stared at the canopy above. Branches were creaking under a layer of so much snow, dry and frozen over, a wave to them that kept one alert.

The sudden question from ahead rattled with how it shattered the calm he’d quartered himself within, having submit to distance and silence. There was no telling what he’d risk by any which response.

Don’t worry about it. He exhaled, watching the fog swirl in a mesmerizing pattern.

“ No. Neither. “ He spoke over their steps, tone aloof. “ But I can appreciate the concern. I’ll make sure to let you know if either does happen. "

Despite the fact I haven’t the slightest clue what that would amount to. Faith, no matter how generous, was presently in short supply. And for what —

“ Syr Faramund — “ He accelerated his step then, closing distance just a tad that he might keep his voice lower.

“ As we are here, now. Might I inquire about something? “

 

[Faramund]

That's better! Nodding to Aarno, Faramund continued in his search. They had already passed a few traps, though, all had failed to serve their purpose this time around. Almost as if someone else beat us to it, the dawnling thought, checking the ground for more than just animal tracks.

It wasn't paranoia. Not really. Enemy scouts had been spotted sniffing around their camp's perimeter as of late. Fortunately, thanks to the likes of Farren, most had failed to return home with their findings. Though, dead or not, it was only a matter of time before Lord Järnberg's men showed up in force to avenge their fallen brethren.

Faramund wondered if they would be ready, when the moment came. He certainly hoped so, fool that he was.

There was a soft plop off to their right as a tree shed its snowy pelt. Somewhere, beyond the whispering wind and the creak of a forest in winter, a wolf howled. Haunting, its song sent shivers down his spine.

Aarno's song was far less potent. Still, distance helped make up for his shortcomings, numerous as they were.

'You may,' Faramund replied, slowing his pace so that the orc might catch up.

 

[Aarno]

Well, fuck me.

Something sunk in his chest at the reply, clutching at his gut, and he didn’t know entirely why. This was the most neutral thing the man could’ve said and yet —

Why did it feel somehow worse than any which borderline nasty quip. Those warranted things akin in turn, easy enough to respond to with silence and a glare. This was not so. Now he’d have to make good on what he begun, or forever submit to how things were.

He caught up much too soon, aided by the gesture that allowed it for him. The pause concluded as he fixed his look upon Faramund, seriously.

“ Do you feel — “ He started slowly, considering. “ That I’ve been ungenerous with you? “

 

[Faramund]

Faramund kept walking, his boots cushioned by the blanket of snow that had settled across the land. 'I feel... that we're both partway responsible for the animosity that has festered between us,' he replied, grimacing at his own candour. His head shook as he examined the ground ahead. Brown eyes beheld white, and plenty of it.

Among other things.

A hare, its downy coat turned white with the season. Dead, neck snapped by a snare. Faramund went down on one knee, the snow shrumping softly under his weight. 'Perhaps that is not the right word,' he continued, 'but it's the only one that comes to mind right now.' Reaching out, he picked up the hare, deposited it in the sack he carried with him.

They would need more if they were to eat well tonight. Much more.

'Do you feel-' He paused, straightened up. 'That I have been unfair with you?'

 

[Aarno]

Partway. There wasn’t disputing any of it — he knew his flaws.

He bobbed his head in easy agreement, chewing the inside of his cheek as the man spoke on. A calming gesture and a hum brought the pony to a stop as Faramund broke off to empty a snare, making the usual short work of it. Deft as ever.

And just like that, like the sudden honesty hadn’t been enough, a question was extended in turn.

A wariness descended upon him despite what he assumed was sincerity, an inhale buying time as he glanced at the surrounding woodland aimlessly. He realized himself taken aback, to an extent. Did he feel wronged, somehow?

Not as such — Maybe? Not really. All he had at this point was his unease and no definitive memory of how it’d come to be exactly. But the sensation that he ought to do something about it had yet risen to reign supreme. Here goes nothing.

“ Not necessarily. “ He responded, genuinely. “ But I shan’t disagree with the notion that we’ve shared responsibility over— this. “ His hand moved in a sharp wave, indicating the space betwixt the two of them.

“ What I feel is that we’ve differences. And we’ve failed to manage them, mutually. Let fester, as you said. “ Pausing for breath, he tugged the pony back to motion.

“ So — Figure we might forage for a diverging approach yet? “

 

[Faramund]

Faramund, much like Aarno, was unsure where it had all started between them. The animosity. The apparent dislike. As far as he could recall, they had interacted little before their investigation into the murder of a noblewoman. They had interacted even less since.

And perhaps therein lay the crux of the problem. To grow fond of someone, you had to spend time with them.

Faramund spent most of his alone, on the road. When out on long ranges, it made the most sense, logically speaking. The Order had always struggled with its distribution of manpower, and sending out two knights where one would do was simply bad practice.

Still, alone, he was left with nothing but his thoughts for company, and they had grown dark as of late. That darkness sometimes manifested itself in the way he treated his friends and comrades. It was partly the reason why he was on rough footing with the Captain. Not to mention a few other names he could throw into the mix.

The other part, he reckoned, was entirely him.

Time to do something about that, ey? Taking a breath, he turned his gaze to the sky. Bleak, empty, it mirrored how he had been feeling these past few months. Aarno's eyes, by comparison, contained a nurturing warmth that the dawnling couldn't help but be drawn to.

'I suppose the least we can do is try,' he agreed, nodding to himself. 'Might prove fruitless, things being what they are between us. But who knows?' He shrugged, started walking. 'Anything's possible. It's all about knowing where to look,' he smiled, cracking the thin layer of ice covering his scarf in the process.

 

[Aarno]

He nodded, daring to smile a little at all remarks. Fruitless — could well be true, as he hadn’t the arrogance to assume friendship betwixt the two of them. One had to figure neither of them were terribly keen on fundamentally changing, so it well might take some time to reach an accord. Time they well might not have.

“ Agreed on all fronts. And look we may. “ Visibly more at ease, he matched pace with his company, stare scanning their surroundings idly as they went on.

“ But in our search, might we not also acknowledge things? Temper expectations and perhaps — “ A shrug, humbling it all to a mere suggestion. Just his preference. “ To know what we are up against, in one another. “

While he remained serious in his meaning, it was lent a degree of lightness in tone. Make it a game.

“ Quick— Loose. “ He snapped his fingers and made a fist, bringing it in a tap to his heart like he meant to clasp the shaft of an arrow. A sliver of sharp teeth was in his curious smile, inviting honesty.

“What do you hate most about me? “

 

[Faramund]

'Besides the incessant questioning?' Faramund had to think on it. Hate was such a strong word, with so many connotations surrounding it. 'I'm not sure I do hate anything about you,' he replied. 'Yes, the way I catch you looking at me like I'm worse than the kind of things you would find on the bottom of your boots gets my blood boiling. Sure, I've sometimes felt like hitting you for it.'

He hesitated, scrambling to keep up with his thoughts.

'But hate? Hand on heart, all things being honest...' He shook his head, eyed the orc warily. Brothers they were, bound by a common creed. Yet, to say they were anything close to being friends was pushing it. They were, in Faramund's continuously fuddled mind, strangers.

Distrusting a stranger was common practice. Disliking them, however...

'Your turn,' he said, realising that the game Aarno had instigated was a good way to pass the time between traps. 'What do you dislike most about me?'

 

[Aarno]

Ah — matters of confidence then. Brows raising with some bright surprise, he took in everything he heard with well-mannered enthusiasm. Felt like hitting— really?

There wasn’t but to believe it, himself having heard it one too many times in his days of yore. Seems some things don’t change, being a high and mighty bastard one of them. Suppose she wasn’t that far off the mark, after all.

Hitting is one thing — how difficult from thenon it be to fail another purposefully on a battlefield. Accidents happen.

He took a little pause at being pitched the initiative in kind, head inclining in thought. How silly he felt, then, that he should’ve used words that befit only one side of the narrative. Hate, fully fabricated. They shared not in it, if naught but the truth was spoken.

“ I’ll first admit I haven’t your capacity to deny hate. Mine is often quickly conjured, so I assume it as fast. “ It wasn’t as much a lamentation as it was a statement of a fact. Nothing to be proud of, but he’d lived with himself long enough to reach a begrudging acceptance over the unrulier parts.

“ You’re rather adamant in your pursuit to have the last word in nigh everything. And you’ve a way about you that is too readily familiar. I find both grating— “ He begun, tone level and with some weariness granted by reminiscence.

“ When received from strangers. When I cannot rule out antagonism. Neither has inspired trust. “ Which is, generally, well enough ignored in the every day. But out here?

“ And I’d like to trust you, as I don’t mind wit or criticism — or being called a ripe old prissy bastard if I act like one. “ Trying a smirk, marking, he transfixed on the man.

“ No punching though. Am fragile. “

 

[Faramund]

'I can see that,' the dawnling smirked, wagging a finger at the lumpy, fleshy thing that counted for Aarno's nose. 'Broken a few times, I'd wager. How many were justified, in your humble opinion?' A rhetorical question, his tone of voice suggested anything but.

Crunching on, each step leaving craters in the snow that would be gone within the hour, Faramund picked over Aarno's words with a fine-toothed comb. The last word in nigh everything, huh? He supposed that was true enough, though, God knows it wasn't intentional. A character flaw, then. As for readily familiar...

'It appears that what endears me to some disparages me to others,' he thought out loud, glancing sidelong at the dusker. 'A fact I've come to terms with over the years. Still, thank you for telling me what you think,' he smiled, the expression lost behind the thick wool covering what he argued -on occasion, mind- was his finest feature.

Add vanity to the list, why don't you!

Following the scout-signs to the next trap, Fara was pleased by the find they made. 'Bigger than the last,' he pointed out helpfully. Of course, it was only after the words had left his mouth that he tried to catch himself. I'm starting to see what he means now, the dawnling grimaced, stooping to unravel the snare from around the dead hare's neck.

'Couple more and we're on to the big ones,' he said, clapping the snow from his gloves. The echoing report scared a nearby murder of crows from their perch. Faramund looked to Aarno. Ready?

 

[Aarno]

And straight back to it, why don’t you.

Only this time, he could take it with some humour. A vicious grin came upon him, like that of a shark ready to bite the wagging finger off the air.

“ Justifications aside, many have tried to break my face. And failed — boneheaded as I am. “ Still better than having wood for a skull and sawdust for brains, as belongst to whomever he got so hideously riled up in the past. So flammable.

“ My fragility lies in the soul, an aversion to pain. “ Hate it all — emotional, physical. Tragic, considering where they were going.

Listening on, he couldn’t but agree with he man’s observations and diagnosis. Different strokes and tastes, hence why some would require adjustment — communication even. A part of him still couldn’t believe he would’ve been granted the opportunity like this. At the thanks, suddenly self-conscious, he nodded firmly.

“ Likewise. I appreciate the honesty. “

There being naught else to it, he settled to a new kind of silence, breathing easier. There was no predicting whether this was just a temporary respite, a little disruption in their patterns that’d pick up again later to steer them towards ruin, but damn he’d take it.

He hummed benevolently at the chattering, barely audible under the wild corvine caws that made to distance. Meeting eyes with Faramund, he laid a hand on the knife at his belt and inclined his head to urge him forward, content with his place at the man’s wake.

“ A distinct lack of deer tracks, no? Figure we’ve disturbed them, roaming here overmuch? “

 

[Faramund]

'This time of year you're better off examining the world at eye level. Looking for tufts of hair, marks on trees- that sort of thing.' He could also go looking for excrement, but Faramund felt it prudent to omit that part of Aarno's impromptu training, due in no small part to his own juvenile sense of humour.

No point jeopardizing the understanding they had spent the last few minutes building up. Not yet at least.

'If I had Farren's sense of smell, I bet you I could smoke one out in a jiffy. As is, we'll have to make do with our eyes... and ears.'

Using both now, Faramund padded softly onwards. Powdery snow shifted underfoot as he spaced out his steps. The forest had grown eerily quiet, the wind dying down almost completely. The cold still clung to the two knights and their pack animal, tenacious, as always.

The horse whickered at something off in the distance. Faramund went to ground almost immediately.

Turning to look over his shoulder, he waved Aarno closer. 'Ask,' he whispered, pointing, 'and you shall receive.'

 

[Aarno]

At the information, eerily pleasant in its delivery, he mouthed a faint oh.

That was correct, wasn’t it. So used to was he staring at the ground, listening to it with soles and fingers, that all else be easily forgotten. That and he wasn’t much of a hunter, having next to no mileage at it, let alone in winter.

“ With Farren’s enchanced senses, I imagine there’d be plenty more yet that one would rather not smell. “ Like the camp, comes first to mind. He quieted then, having absorbed advice and scanning the trunks of trees in turn for any which mentioned sign. Though, being entirely honest, his stare strayed betwixt them more often than not, just enjoying the trek.

The snowfall was too beautiful, pleasant in the slow drift towards ground. His attention snapped from it back to Faramund once he realized the man had stopped, and—

He’s on the ground.

Holding in a breath, he stilled, watching as the man waved him over. Keeping a little lower, he traced the indicating gesture.

Amidst the airborne static, snout pointed at the ground in search of anything that yet remain under the frozen white — A buck. It’s antlers were large, three spiked, greybrown coat a perfect camouflage in the gloom. From where they yet remained, strapped the pony’s harness, he picked along a bow and quiver.

As quiet as he could, he made it to Faramund and offered a huntman’s means to him. In a whisper, he stated the obvious.

“ I’m not much of a marksman. You? “

 

[Faramund]

'Last time I used a bow was during my aspirant's phase,' the dawn-knight answered, taking bow and quiver with grateful nod. 'Make of that what you will.' Stringing the weapon with an economy of motion, Faramund picked out three arrows, laid one to rest.

The buck stood, majestic, within a short bow's shot. Sixty feet, give or take. Close enough for a keen eye to thread an arrow, but far enough to give even him pause.

The forest ambience died down as it waited for Faramund to make his play. The world held its collective breath. No wind, and few branches to mangle his flight. It should have been easy. It would have been, had he no audience. But Aarno had to go and complicate things by existing. Bastard.

Smirking, the dawnling drew the arrow back, stopped when he felt the fletching tickle his earlobe. A breath. Two.

He let fly at the same moment the buck raised its head. Iron tip punched through skin and muscle to bury itself in the deer's heart, just behind its right leg. It staggered, tried to bolt. Faramund had another arrow knocked and ready to loose when it ploughed headlong into a mound of snow at the foot of an alder tree.

Rushing forwards, a ghost in grey, Faramund discarded his bow, drew his dagger to finish the job.

The beast was twitching its last by the time he delivered the mercy stroke. Scooping up a handful of snow, Faramund washed his blade clean before returning it to the sheathe at his hip. Footsteps from behind made him half-turn. 'Went better than I thought it would,' he admitted. 'Quick, and relatively painless, all things considered.' He grimaced at how callous that sounded, shrugged.

'Can only hope I'm so lucky when my time comes.'

 

[Aarno]

Aspirant phase. Way to sell yourself short.

Making not another sound, merely nodding amicably, he settled into his place next to the man. A comfortable amount of air remained betwixt, but he could still sense an amount of tension, one borne not of just the string of a bow. Concentration, nerves?

He made sure to not look to his companion, fixing on the deer instead. At the release of an arrow, movement exploded from both animal and man, at which point he was beyond even bothering to rush himself up.

Dagger sliced. Patting snow off his knees and shoulders he sent an unhurried glance checking for the man’s success, despite knowing it needless. All he’d left to do was shoulder the discarded bow and quiver, before continuing on to fetch the pony and sleigh.

“ Well — that’s a thought to have, before a battle. “ He responded, a darkness to his pleasant enough expression as he drew nigh. “ Completely unawares — ambushed or in one’s sleep would be the way, but I’ve never had the feeling that’d be for me. “

What we’re going towards does sound awfully like the opposite of that. He stopped next to the felled deer, sliding the sleigh closer the last foot by a sharp kick.

“ Prefer to not think about it. Makes one grow fatalist and forlorn, easy enough. “

 

[Faramund]

'Not to sound too dramatic, but I died the day I joined the Order,' Faramund rumbled, freeing arrow from flesh with an audible grunt. The missile wasn't beyond saving. Unlike me. 'Can't live this kind of life expecting a happy ending. Sooner or later, fate finds a way to catch up with you.'

Fatalist and forlorn, maybe. Faramund liked to think of it as facing reality. His reality, or the one the world had chosen for him.

'You yourself know what we're up against. Hugo Järnberg is just another menace in a long list of menaces that we have to deal with,' he grunted, rolled buck onto horse-pulled bier. Standing up, the big dawnling brushed the snow from his knees, straightened to look Aarno in the eye.

'Still, not all hope is lost. With any luck, I'll die old, rich and surrounded by beautiful women,' he grinned, thumping the he-orc on the shoulder in a gesture of spontaneous camaraderie. Then, in conspiratorial tone; 'Between you and me, I don't think we're going to find any out here, though.'

Trudging over to the horse, he reattached the sled's guidelines. They had what they had come for. Now, it was time to head back.

 

[Aarno]

While he could understand the sentiment, the comfort and security in predetermination, there was no agreement from him when it came to fate. But, then again, he had no broader knowledge of how the man’s experiences and deeds might rival his own. Some delivery from guilt, maybe, to think that you’d get your comeuppance.

Fuck that.

Saying nothing, he hummed to signify attention, a self-aware tone to it. His look that’d turned darker by the acknowledgement of facts brightened a touch at Faramund’s jest, the grin and the gesture. An amused hiss of a breath left him, sharp.

“ Some luck. “ He said with an impressed arch to his brows, well enough aware that the man had spoken in hyperbole. Still—

“ I’d be happy if it was by a warm fire at this point. “ As they weren’t being serious, he omitted the addition of ‘next to whomever one might care about’. But that would've been the thorough truth.

“ And none of this gods-forsaken snow, as far as the eye can see. “

Thanfully, the camp appeared to be where they’d be heading next. Keeping to the established marching order, and gladly so, he trusted Faramund entirely to pick their way back. His stare drifted, awareness lost betwixt the irregular details of their surrounding and the steady footfalls ahead, silence upon him in willful oblivion.

Despite all, not least their latest topic, he found himself smiling a little. Just so.